I went back and forth quite a bit when it came to writing today’s blog post. I just wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to publish it and “put it out there” so to speak. It sounded so trite when I thought about it, and yet, I couldn’t get the entire stupid scenario out of my head.
Dear readers, today I present you with a tale of the most cantankerous man I have ever met while on vacation anywhere ever.
It was my last day at the Melia Resort on Nassau Beach and I had vowed earlier that morning that I would take in everything one last time: the sound of the ocean waves, the sunshine on my shoulders, and the feeling of sand between my toes. In just a few hours, I would land in New York City, where a bitter frost left streets deserted and rumors of a snowfall would soon blanket the city. AGAIN.
Let’s just say I wasn’t quite prepared.
I made my way to the dining hall as I had done every morning and filled up my plate with potatoes, fruit, and yogurt. At this point, I must have had at least four meals in what was called the “Market Place” and was never told that seating was assigned (this was a glorified cafeteria and I think that’s why I assumed it was less formal than that). It was a stupid assumption on my part to think I could just sit anywhere, but it truly was an honest mistake.
I would soon regret this error in judgment.
I took a seat with a view of the ocean and the sand and began stuffing potatoes into my mouth at warp speed.
“THIS IS MY SEAT!”
I looked up and locked eyes with the handsome, tall stranger who had barked in my general direction. He stood clutching his tray and had a look that told me I had exactly five seconds to make like a tree and leaf.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry…” I muttered, while frantically packing items onto my tray and nearly spilling my coffee. I looked up again and was met with the same ice-cold glare and headshake. His body language clearly conveyed that I must have had some sort of audacity to sit in HIS seat.
Because of the commotion and the looks of nearby diners, a waitress came over quickly to guide me to another seat… where I would be facing him.
Great, I thought.
And it continued. “THIS IS THE SEAT YOU HAD ASSIGNED TO ME, IS IT NOT?” his British accent cut through the dining hall while the hostess tried desperately to make amends with him.
And then it happened. All at once, I was ugly crying at the table. I have no idea where those tears came from and I didn’t know how to make them stop. I cried into my potatoes, I wept into my coffee. I was completely inconsolable. It makes me laugh now when I think about it; why on earth did I allow this man to crawl under my skin like that?
It took a few hours for me to calm down completely and admit that this man was a stupid jerk (HOURS! The hell is wrong with me???). I mean, who cares about seating when you’re in paradise? Now I’m kind of embarrassed this happened in the first place.
Has anything like this ever happened to you, and how did you respond? Am I way too sensitive? Would you have thrown your coffee in this man’s face?